


the breath before the phrase

by somehowunbroken



Series: tonight, tonight [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 Memorial Cup, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: Dylan got seven points.Seven. That's a big deal.





	the breath before the phrase

**Author's Note:**

> -S E V E N  
> -POINTS
> 
> -and the otters broke a mem cup record with 12 goals
> 
> -i'm yelling!!!!
> 
> -thanks to ari for reading this over for me.
> 
> -title is from [pink's "glitter in the air."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQ0zhsvhynw)

Dylan knows he's walking around with a kind of glazed-over look on his face, but, well.

Well.

"Seven points," Alex says for probably the millionth time. He's barely left Dylan's side, post-game interviews and showers and now the insistent crush of their team around them, planning some sort of low-key, Coach-approved celebration. He's got two fingers wrapped through one of Dylan's belt loops, and every time he sways too far to the side, he immediately reels himself back in. "You're a goddamn legend, babe."

Dylan grins a little. "I feel like the correct response here is 'that's what she said,' but it'd be _he_ instead of _she_ , and you're the him." He blinks a few times, but no, there's no way to make that make more sense. "So yeah, I guess I'm just going with it."

"Good," Alex sys fiercely. Dylan's seen him in all sorts of situations, from the high of medaling with the US World Juniors team to the low of being cut from it the next year, but he's never quite seen this look of intense pride. It makes him even happier, which he really didn't think was possible at this point, and he's glad for Alex's fingers tucked into his belt loop. He knows he wouldn't actually float away from happiness, but it damn well feels like he could.

Alex has his phone in the hand he's not using to tether himself to Dylan, and he's texting furiously. Dylan has no idea how he manages, but he's offered to be Dylan's buffer for the night, and Dylan had taken him up on it without a second thought. He and his family had already had their happy cry together outside the locker room, and anyone else who really needs him knows that Alex is the best bet anyway.

Alex snorts, and Dylan turns to look at him. "Marns says to look at your texts," he directs. "Apparently he live-reacted the whole game to you."

"Do I want to see this?" Dylan asks, raising an eyebrow. "Yesterday he told me he was rooting for the Sea Dogs."

"I think his OHL pride is too strong," Alex says, grinning. "He says it's, quote, mostly good, unquote. He's your boy; I'm sure it's fine."

Dylan takes his phone out of his pocket to distract him from blurting out something in front of their teammates, something like _nah, you're my boy_. He sees that he's got well over 200 missed texts; when he clicks on his chat with Marns, it almost halves. He snorts. "He's wordy."

"I bet," Alex says, going back to his phone. They're drifting sort of aimlessly around, waiting for the bus back to the hotel. The team is still buzzing around them, a happy sort of background music.

"I take that back," Dylan says as he scrolls up. "He's… emoji-y. Full of emojis."

"Lemme see," Alex says, tucking himself close to Dylan. He lowers his phone obligingly, and they read together as Marns goes from chirping Dylan's skating to slowly losing his shit, ending with a screen completely devoid of words. It looks like the emoji keyboard exploded, but it ends with four sirens and three apples followed by a full row of flames, so Dylan's going to assume there's a message in there somewhere. Not one that he's going to parse out, but he sends Marns a thumbs-up in reply and nearly instantly gets a string of them back.

"Think he's excited for you?" Alex asks, laughing and leaning into Dylan's side.

"He'd better be," Dylan says, grinning. "He only got six points in his best game last year. I broke his record. That's how this friendship works."

Dylan's phone buzzes again. It's another row of flames from Marns, and Alex laughs. "I think you're good."

"Of course I am," Dylan says smugly. "I got seven points tonight."

It makes Alex laugh again and sway away, turning his attention back to his phone. He gets it unlocked just as Coach announces that the bus has arrived, so he sighs and pockets it so he can concentrate on getting to the bus without letting go of Dylan or running into anything.

"Hey," Dylan says, poking his fingers when they make it outside. "This could be easier."

"Hm?" Alex replies, tilting his head towards Dylan.

Dylan uncurls Alex's fingers and, before Alex can protest, threads their fingers together. He swings their hands a little between them and smiles down, and Alex looks a little stunned before breaking into a huge smile and squeezing his hand.

"Yeah, okay," he says, holding on and swaying closer again.

They climb onto the bus, Alex first as always, and he doesn't let go as he trails towards the middle of the bus to their normal seats. Nobody makes a weird face or comments; it's not like the guys don't know, but this is probably the most open he and Alex have ever been about the fact that they're not just teammates.

Alex tugs him into their seats, dropping down by the window and looking up at Dylan expectantly. "Sit with me?"

"As if I'd leave you for a Raddysh at this point," Dylan says, smiling. "I want to catch Timps and then I'll come back, okay?"

"As long as you come back," Alex replies, turning back to his phone.

Dylan's got that same feeling from before, like he's going to say something he might not want the rest of the guys to hear, so he hurries to the back of the bus for some goalie time.

-0-

The bus ride to the hotel is mercifully short; the post-game crash is incoming, seven points or no. and Dylan feels it looming more and more the farther they get from the arena. Alex's phone is still buzzing, but Dylan tunes it out as he rolls his shoulders in his bus seat. He loves hockey, he's glad he's here, and he's thrilled that he's making a career out of it, but he's also glad that the last game of the tournament is Sunday.

"Hey," Alex says quietly as they pull into the parking lot of the hotel. "You up for a FaceTime?"

"Is it Davo?" Dylan asks, hearing the little note of hope in his voice.

Alex smiles up at him. "Of course it's Davo. He wants to talk to the new OHL record holder."

Dylan makes a show of looking around the bus. "I mean, okay, but it's gonna be forever if he wants to talk to _everyone_ on the team that scored twelve goals."

"You're hilarious," Alex deadpans, but there's something soft in the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles. "I told him we were gonna shower and we'd call him after."

"Sounds good," Dylan says, standing and stretching as the bus creaks to a halt. He reaches out for Alex's hand almost without thinking about it, and Alex doesn't hesitate to grab it and haul himself up. He holds on as Dylan leads them off the bus, and they make it back to their hotel room without any fanfare. Or, well, almost; Cirelli bumps Dylan's shoulder and calls him Captain Seven-Up, but Dylan will take that gladly.

They shower and change into pajamas quickly. Alex goes to the vending machine for water while Dylan sort of pulls the covers up on their bed; it's not that Davo will mock him for not making the bed up after his pre-game nap, but his mom definitely makes faces, so he's made a habit out of it. Alex gets back just as Dylan's sitting on the bed, and he climbs on the bed and sits in the vee of Dylan's outstretched legs.

"Guess what?" he says as he leans back, making himself comfortable.

"You ran into one of the guys at the vending machine, and they made a dirty joke about _seven points_ ," Dylan says. He's shocked he hadn't heard any in the locker room, honestly.

"No, but I have plans anyway," Alex says, tilting his head so Dylan can see him waggling his eyebrows. "I got you a present."

Before Dylan can say anything, Alex flexes his hips up off the bed and reaches into his pocket, then sets his prize on Dylan's thigh before sitting back down.

"Red Vines," Dylan says happily, reaching for the package. He plants a smacking kiss on Alex's forehead. "You're the best."

"We can share," Alex allows, smiling up at him. "Davo time?"

"Red Vine time," Dylan corrects. "One. And then Davo time."

Alex laughs, but he doesn't stop Dylan from tearing into the package and pulling out a Red Vine. He munches on it happily, not bothering to savor it. There are a bunch more in the package; he can take the time to enjoy those ones later. When he's done, he buries his face in Alex's hair and sighs, wrapping his arms around Alex's waist.

"I can tell Davo we'll call him tomorrow if you just want to chill," Alex offers, putting a hand on Dylan's forearm. "He'll get it."

"No, we can call him," Dylan says. "But you have to stay here."

"Can do," Alex says, laughing a little. "Hand me my phone?"

Dylan grabs it from the bedstand and holds it out, and Alex fiddles with it for a minute before the FaceTime connecting sound starts. It cuts off pretty quickly, revealing Connor's face. "Oh my god, oh my god!" he yells, smiling so wide it has to be hurting him. "Stromer!"

"I think he's excited," Alex says. He's probably going for super serious, but Dylan can hear how he's holding back a laugh.

"That's a crazy record," Connor says, still beaming at the camera. " _Seven points._ Holy shit, Dylan."

"I mean, I tried," Dylan says, laughing. "I had a bunch of help, though."

"Twelve goals," Connor says a little dreamily. "That was a beautiful game all around." He sighs, then focuses on them, eyes narrowing a little. "Except you had a defensive breakdown at the end. You could've kept them to three."

"Yes, Captain," Dylan says dryly as Alex snorts. "We heard it from Coach, and we all knew it as it was happening."

"As long as you don't let it happen on Wednesday," Connor grumbles. "Windsor isn't gonna let you get a nine-goal lead to sit on."

"We'll get 'em anyway," Alex says confidently.

Connor rolls his eyes so hard Dylan's a little surprised the camera doesn't break. "Well, yeah. I'm just _saying_."

"Noted," Dylan says. "How's the commercial thing going?"

They chat for a little while; Connor intersperses stories about how weird it is to film a commercial with things he noticed from the game, and Alex and Dylan chirp him mercilessly for his fame while both, Dylan knows, making mental notes of the things he says about their performance.

Alex is leaning farther and farther into Dylan's chest; after a while, Dylan reaches out to take the phone from him, leaning back a little and pulling Alex closer. When he's done adjusting them, he looks back at the phone, where Connor has an impossibly fond look on his face.

"You guys are adorable," he announces. "And also, I should probably let you sleep. I'm sure you have tape review in the morning or something."

"We do," Dylan acknowledges. "Windsor's like a bat out of hell, and we want to crush them, so: preparation."

"Good plan," Connor says approvingly. "If I think of anything else, I'll text you."

"Just text Coach," Alex says. It's half-mumbled, like he's only barely keeping himself awake. "Cut out the middleman. Let the middleman sleep."

Connor laughs. "Let the middleman's boyfriend sleep, you mean," he teases, but Dylan knows his "captain taking care of the rookies" voice too well to think he's doing anything but getting ready to hang up. "I'll watch on Wednesday."

"Thanks, Davo," Dylan says. "Good luck with the commercial."

"Congrats, Stromer," Connor says, open and earnest. "You did something ridiculous and amazing and incredible, and I hope you're proud of yourself for that."

Dylan blinks back the tears he hadn't expected to spring to his eyes; maybe he should've, though. Connor has always been in his corner, and he's never been shy about telling people that. "Thanks," he manages. "I am."

"Me too," Alex says, waving his hand in the general direction of the phone. "Night, Daver."

"Night, Brinksy," Connor says, looking like he wants to laugh but is heroically keeping it in. "Sleep well, you guys."

Dylan waves at the camera before ending the call and tossing the phone to the bedstand. It'll probably die in the middle of the night, but the hotel will give them a wake-up call, and Alex has a ton of portable phone chargers. They'll deal.

"What was it you were saying before about calling Davo tomorrow?" Dylan asks, smiling, as he slowly slides them both down the bed so they can actually lay down. "I didn't realise you were this wiped."

"I'm not," Alex says, yawning.

Dylan snorts. "Okay. Want to go over the pass in the second where—"

"Shhhhhhh," Alex replies, whining a little. "I'm sleeping."

It makes Dylan smile hard enough that he can feel his eyes crinkling, but he just rolls them until they're on their sides, then tugs the comforter from the other side of the bed up and over them both. He slings an arm over Alex's hips and cuddles close, letting his breathing slow as he dozes, nose buried in Alex's hair. His shampoo smells like coconut, and even though Dylan knows it's the cheap stuff he buys for a dollar at Shoppers, it's still one of his favorite scents.

"Hey," Alex mumbles just as Dylan's about to drift off, long after Dylan figured he'd fallen asleep.

"Hm?" Dylan replies, brushing his nose against the back of Alex's head.

"You did good tonight," Alex says. "So, so good."

Dylan smiles. "Thanks, babe."

" _So_ good," Alex repeats on a sigh. "Proud of you."

"Thanks," Dylan repeats, squeezing Alex to him slightly. "Love you."

"Love you," Alex says sleepily. "Gonna win you a Cup."

"Not if I win you one first," Dylan says, but Alex is already asleep.

That's fine, Dylan thinks. He'll just show Alex what he meant in a few days.

**Author's Note:**

> -SEVEN!!!
> 
> -will i ever be over this? sources point to no
> 
> -erie vs. windsor tonight. i'm wearing my lucky otter socks. THEY CAN DO THIS.
> 
> -[follow me on tumblr](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com) for hockey opinions.


End file.
